


spring sour

by oculata



Series: the beginning of forever [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 10, Showers, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: Mickey comes home extremely exhausted, and Ian tries to help him relax.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: the beginning of forever [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524932
Comments: 22
Kudos: 230





	spring sour

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam)

“Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking tired,” Mickey sighed out in exasperation as the door to his and Ian’s bedroom slid open.

Ian was sitting on their bed scrolling through his email on his phone, and Mickey’s sudden entrance and obvious tension startled him. His eyes darted over to look at his boyfriend in the doorway, but Mickey didn’t look back. Instead, he stared out into nothing, his line of vision landing nowhere in particular in their room. He looked like a machine that was in the process of shutting off, and Ian was growing concerned because he could see Mickey trying to relax his body, but there was some horrible rod of tension plunged through him that was keeping him upright and tense. 

Ian’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, and right as he was on the brink of finally forming some sound, a long, exhausted sigh dropped from Mickey’s mouth, and his head bowed down until his chin hit his chest, the weight of his breath acting like a sinking anchor that was tied around his neck. Ian deflated and placed his phone down on the bed as Mickey raised his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, come here,” Ian said softly and moved closer to one side of the bed to make room for his boyfriend when he saw Mickey’s arms tense up and his hand begin to shake from its rigidity.

Mickey’s posture slackened, but only a little bit—not nearly enough to ease Ian’s worrying. He lifted his head back up, but his eyes were empty and distant. They circled the room thoughtlessly as Mickey slid the door closed, dragged himself across the room, and plopped his tired body onto the bed. He sat hunched over, arms hanging from him lifelessly, staring at the creases of their bedsheet. Ian leaned back onto the pillow and opened up his arms, fluttering his fingers at Mickey to beckon him.

Mickey looked over and sighed, the noise coming out as a confusing mix of exhaustion and relief. Unconsciously, his body practically collapsed into Ian’s arms, and once that scent hit him—that familiar, easing scent that Mickey fell asleep smelling every night while being held so gently—he was burrowing his face into Ian’s neck and tossing an arm over Ian’s chest, pressing their bodies tightly together.

Ian closed his arms around Mickey as his boyfriend settled into him, adjusting himself over Ian’s body as he searched for the most comfortable position to lie in while still being able to hold onto him. There was a flurry of activity from Mickey for a few seconds as he moved, the strain in his body making his movements quick and harsh. But once he found comfort in his position, his body fell entirely limp, and he exhaled a heavy, shaky breath onto Ian’s neck.

Ian frowned, and he could feel how tense his facial muscles were from the concern etched onto his countenance. Mickey was good at compartmentalizing, usually—it was rare when one part of his life would flow into another. Ian found the behavior concerning at times, but seeing Mickey so visibly distraught and physically exhausted because of a mental weight was just as troubling. It was a difficult thing, they were finding, to adjust to a changing world and society when they had lived in such a different one for months. It was no longer about surviving. It was about maintaining—and prospering, if they played their cards right. And though Mickey was trying his best and having much success with adapting to normalcy, he would understandably have days where he was just tired of absolutely everything and pissed off to hell. Ian was still trying to learn how he could best support him—sometimes what he did worked enough, and other times they would end up in a fiery conflict that would bleed into the following morning.

They were learning, though. They were getting there.

Ian pressed his cheek into Mickey’s hair, the texture silky from the sweat and oil, and began moving one hand up and down his back.

“Long day?” Ian asked idly, feeling how his palm glided over the fabric of Mickey’s polo.

Mickey sighed. “You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he grumbled. “People are so fucking annoying.”

“Yeah,” Ian murmured, tucking his hand under the hem of Mickey’s shirt so he could stroke the small of his back.

Mickey exhaled another breath, this one sounding far more content and genuinely relaxed. He moved the arm hugged around Ian’s torso onto his chest, and his fingertips landed right over the neckline of Ian’s tank top. He began dragging his fingers over the contours of Ian’s chest, feeling how supple the skin felt there, how easily and smoothly a concave turned into a convex. Everything flowed together so nicely, he thought.

Ian’s hand wandered up Mickey’s side with a little flutter, eliciting a small giggle and bodily jerk from him. It finally settled on Mickey’s cheek, but it only laid there for but a moment before Mickey was grunting and moving off of Ian.

“Don’t touch my face, man. It feels really fuckin’ gross,” he cavailed, turning back onto the other pillow with a groan as he stretched his back.

Ian blinked and arched a brow. “You were just sticking your ‘gross’ face in my neck, but you draw the line at me touching it?”

Mickey looked at him sidelong, and Ian could see the upturned corner of a smile edging onto Mickey’s profile.

“Whatever, man,” he said, turning away from Ian to feign a pout.

The corner of Ian’s mouth quirked, and he crawled over to Mickey. He wedged himself up against Mickey’s back and placed a hand on his shoulder, smoothing his palm down the length of Mickey’s arm.

“Do you wanna go take a shower before you sleep?” Ian suggested gently into Mickey’s ear.

Mickey stayed still as he mulled it over, allowing Ian to gently touch his arm and breathe into his ear. His answer came in the form of another tired sigh as he began to sit up from the bed. Ian followed suit, grabbing Mickey’s hand once he was on his feet, and started leading them out of the bedroom.

“You think I’m gonna get lost or somethin’?” Mickey teased from Ian’s tail as they trotted down the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Yeah. That’s why chaperones are important,” Ian replied, to which Mickey snorted and sent a light kick into his calf.

They entered the bathroom, and Mickey started disrobing while Ian located two fresh towels and shut the door behind them. Except, the door was doing that _annoying fucking thing_ again where the lock wasn’t clicking into place and it would drift open. Ian huffed, peeved beyond belief because that was the third time that day the door had done that. So he flung it closed as hard as he could, but it still drifted back open.

He damn near growled, but then Mickey placed a placating hand on his shoulder blade and shushed him.

He leaned in close to Ian. “You gotta twist the knob the other way so the lock clicks in,” he said gently, demonstrating the motion with his free hand. Ian took in a deep breath and followed Mickey’s instructions, and when he let go of the knob, the door finally stayed shut.

Once the agitation in the air dissipated, Mickey elbowed Ian in the side with a smile. “They let the pissy sixth graders be chaperones now, huh?”

Ian just rolled his eyes and grinned. Mickey rose up on his toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, and Ian felt his skin heat up and his smile intensify.

“Get in already,” Ian said, giving his boyfriend a gentle slap on his butt.

Mickey snickered, finished taking his clothes off, and stepped into the shower. Ian followed him in, leaving his clothes in a trail leading up to the shower.

The water turned on, and Mickey squeaked when he was slapped by a stream of goddamn icicles pounding at him from the showerhead. Ian laughed as Mickey threw himself onto the valve and quickly readjusted the temperature to mildly scalding. Once the temperature was reasonable for him, he turned around to face Ian and waddled in place as he acclimatized to the heat.

“You know, Mick, you could just start off at a normal temperature and slowly make it hotter from there,” Ian pointed out as he watched splotches of pink and red appear where the hot water hit Mickey's skin.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” Mickey returned, unphased by the sass as he leaned back and let the water beat against his scalp and saturate his hair. Ian grabbed Mickey's shampoo and poured some into his hand.

Mickey stepped away from the water and closer to Ian, and Ian's hands found their way into Mickey's hair. His fingertips began massaging his scalp and trailed all over his head, being sure to massage around his ears and the back of his neck. 

Mickey's eyes lolled closed as Ian kept gently working the product in with his fingers, occasionally using his nails for some variation in feeling. He just melted into the sensation of Ian's hands and how good and relaxed they made him feel. Though the product had been sufficiently worked in, Ian kept massaging Mickey's scalp so he could hear the little hums and moans that his boyfriend unconsciously made. It was sweet watching him slowly unwind—his shoulders loosened, his posture hunched a bit, and his hands found themselves resting on Ian's hips. He began to look as peaceful as he did when he was asleep, and that made Ian feel warm and fuzzy inside. Mickey always looked so beautiful and delicate when he slept.

Eventually, Ian stopped moving his hands and dipped his head down to place a chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, which prompted a pleased hum that vibrated between their connected lips. When he pulled back, he saw the goofy smile Mickey had plastered on his face, the lift of his cheeks almost obscuring his closed eyes. Ian couldn’t help but beam back at him.

“Tilt your head back.”

Mickey obeyed, moving his head under the water as Ian's hands resumed their movement, washing the shampoo out. They repeated the procedure with the conditioner, with the amendment of Ian swiping a bit of the product through Mickey’s scruff. Ian then washed his own hair, allowing Mickey to just stand under the water and relax some more. They switched positions so Ian could rinse his hair out, and Mickey took the opportunity to lather the loofah.

He passed it to Ian, and Ian began swiping the loofah over Mickey’s neck and chest, smiling at how the suds settled into his clavicle.

“Saw some birds on my way home,” Mickey said idly, almost sounding like he was drunk.

“Oh yeah? What color were they? Arms up.”

Mickey lifted his arms, and Ian began to lather them. “Blue. Lots of ‘em, too. Think they were babies. There was one really big one and a bunch of little ones.” He lowered his arms and turned around so Ian could wash his back and legs.

Ian smiled again. "Sounds cute."

They finished washing, and Ian stepped out first. He dried himself off quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. He took the other, fluffier towel and began drying Mickey’s hair for him before moving down to get the rest of his body. Mickey started humming again, eyes closed and expression absolutely content. Ian then handed him the towel, and he wrapped it around his waist.

They returned to the bedroom in the same way they had left it—Ian holding onto Mickey's hand as he led them down the hallway, Mickey playfully grousing about how he could find his way on his own.

“Do you wanna continue reading your book?” Ian asked after he had changed into pajama pants. He sat down on the bed with his back against the wall and looked over at Mickey, who was sitting beside him still in his towel looking a bit dazed.

They had been on a mission to have Mickey experience many of the things that he had missed out in childhood. Currently, they were working their way through the _Harry Potter_ series because Mickey mentioned being intrigued with the franchise but never being able to read the books or even see the movies at any point. Mickey would read the books on his own, but he preferred to have Ian read them to him before they slept.

“Mhm,” Mickey responded before leaning over until his head fell into Ian's lap.

Ian grinned down at Mickey in his lap before reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve the book.

“Ah, shit. The bookmark fell out. Do you remember what part we were at?”

“Think they just got into that wreck in the flying car after they hit the tree,” Mickey said around a prolonged yawn.

Ian searched through the book momentarily before locating the section Mickey described. As he read, he could feel Mickey’s hand and fingers wandering over his leg, smoothing over his knee, and picking at the fabric of his pants. The touches were so gentle, so focused on just _feeling_ Ian and how incredible it was to have his body right next to Mickey’s again. Ian reached his free hand down to thread his fingers through Mickey’s damp hair. 

The motion of moving his hand through Mickey’s hair became automatic as he read, and eventually Mickey tucked his own hand under his cheek. Soon after, his breathing slowed, and Ian paused his reading.

“Keep goin’. I'm listenin’,” Mickey drawled, half his mind given up to sleep.

So Ian continued reading, and he kept going until he heard Mickey’s heavy breathing become consistent and saw his body twitch a little like it always did when he was deep asleep.

He dogeared the page and returned the book to the nightstand, careful to not disturb his boyfriend. He looked down at Mickey—sleeping and gentle and peaceful—and breathed out a content sigh as he kept running his fingers through his black hair, watching how his body rose and sank with his breath.

 _You’re always so beautiful_ , he thought.


End file.
